


Four Letters

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-20
Updated: 2007-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earthside vacations bring large beds, and large beds bring . . . crossword puzzles?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Letters

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The hotel was nice – real nice, the kind with thick carpets and fresh flowers outside the elevators, everyone talking in low, pleasant tones in the lobby and offering genuine smiles when they passed over the room keys. It was a shame, John thought as he slouched in the elevator, that they were too tired to appreciate it, but maybe once they pulled the drapes and remembered their view was of the ocean rather than a Motel 6 parking lot, grabbed some sleep and ordered seventy dollars of room service, they'd be feeling a lot more grateful.

"They need a monorail," Rodney sighed as they trekked down the hallway toward their room. "One of those moving sidewalks they have in the airport. A tiny, tiny golf cart to transport guests from one place to the other. Oh, oh – a _chair lift_."

John blinked lazily and raised one eyebrow. "Us," he said, gesturing to the room number.

"You have no imagination," Rodney sniffed, shaking his head and juggling his luggage so he had one hand free to slide his key card into the lock.

There was a single lamp burning inside the room, offering just enough atmospheric light to illuminate a couch and two easy chairs, an armoire that John sincerely hoped contained a TV of truly obscene proportions and fifteen channels of ESPN, and the most enormous bed he'd ever seen.

Rodney stopped dead four steps inside the door and gaped. "Oh, god," he said reverently. "Do you see that? Do you? Is that – oh my _god_."

And in an instant he seemed to have found some last reserve of energy, dropped his bags and stripped out of his jacket, throwing it into a chair and sending his shirt, shoes, socks and pants after it in rapid succession. John watched, bemused, kicking the door closed with one foot as Rodney hopped in some demented fashion, trying to kick off his boxers, and before John could so much as set down his bag, Rodney had crawled under the enormous, overstuffed comforter and was beginning to test each of the half dozen pillows to see which one he liked best.

John laughed softly, one corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. "Rodney."

"No talking!" Rodney said in a tone no doubt meant to be imperious, but it was hard to issue orders when you were smothering yourself with six inches of down.

John shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on top of the bags Rodney had dropped, watching, amused, as Rodney twitched the sheets and covers into a satisfactory heap, burrowed into the pillow he'd deemed best, and finally – after much rustling and rearranging of bed linens – came to a complete rest. There was a moment of silence before a long, satisfied, groan emanated from the bed. All that could be seen of Rodney was a tuft of sandy-brown hair, and a tiny twitching of the comforter that suggested he was wiggling his toes.

"Comfy?" John asked, crouching to unlace his boots and tug them off.

"Mmph," Rodney replied.

John snorted softly and undressed without undue haste, rummaged in his bag to find the toothbrush and toothpaste rattling around loose beneath several pairs of socks, two unopened packs of gum, a handful of still-wrapped crackers liberated from the sandwich stand they'd haunted at the airport, and a t-shirt that was a slothful shade of grey. He headed to the bathroom, brushed his teeth methodically, and paused now and again to listen to the happy noises drifting from the bed, most of which – roughly translated – meant _comfy_ , _soft_ , _warm_ , and _almost as good as a ZPM._.

Tired but too wound from travel to surrender to sleep, John snagged the day's newspaper on his way back to bed. Rodney grumbled as John climbed in beside him, but the moment John was situated comfortably with a mound of pillows behind his back, he pressed his feet against John's calf, and wriggled happily, face turned away and smashed into the sheets. "Sleeeeeeeep," he said softly – it was unclear if he meant it as an observation or a command.

"Yeah. Soon," John offered, folding the newspaper into quarters and snagging a pen from the nightstand.

There was a rustling and shifting beside him as Rodney turned over then peered out from beneath the duvet. "Doing?" he asked, frowning.

"Crossword," John said innocently.

Rodney blinked. "No."

John quirked one eyebrow and showed him the grid.

"Sleep."

"Not quite there yet."

Rodney humphed emphatically. "You don't even _do_ crossword puzzles," he mumbled.

"Sure I do," John said lightly. "One across, four letters. 'In the thick of.'" He chewed the end of his pen. "Lick," he said, filling in the spots.

Rodney inched out from beneath the covers a little more. "What?"

"Fourteen across, four letters. 'Chauffeur's spot.'" John hummed happily. "Suck."

Rodney scowled.

"Seventeen across, four letters. 'Uproar.' _Kiss_."

Rodney disappeared back under the covers, sighing heavily.

"Fifteen across, seven letters. 'Fallings out.'" John dragged his toe up Rodney's calf. "Fellate."

Rodney whined.

"Sixteen across, eleven letters. 'In need of patching.'" John smiled to himself. "Longslowwet. . . "

A hand shot out from beneath the covers, grabbed his pen and paper, and launched both across the room. " _Here_ ," Rodney ordered, pulling on John's arm until he consented with a smirk to slide down beneath the covers.

"I can't think off the lights here, you know," John pointed out.

"Shut the hell _up_ ," Rodney complained, winding a hand around the back of John's neck and leaning in to kiss him clumsily, fatigue warring with want.

John hooked one leg over Rodney's thigh, dragged him closer, slid clever fingers down his spine and lower to graze the cleft of his ass. Rodney whined helplessly.

"Oh I hate you," Rodney said as John pushed him onto his back. "I was going to _sleep_."

John smiled, amused, kissing the hollow of his throat. "I can stop."

"I will _kill_ you," Rodney gruffed, fingers scratching gently through John's hair. "Just get on with it."

John laughed. "Geez, Rodney. Romantic." He lazily tongued a nipple, making Rodney squirm beneath him.

"I'm just tired!" Rodney managed weakly, hips pushing up against John's body.

"And horny," John pointed out, grazing the upper curve of Rodney's belly with his teeth.

"Yes," Rodney agreed helplessly. "So horny. So very horny, full of horn, I am _full of horn_ , oh, god, I hate you, I hate you more than Williams, more than the whole staff of MIT, more than . . . ohhhhhhh _hate_ ," he finished on a whispery sigh as John slid his mouth down over his cock and began to suck.

It was deeply satisfying to make Rodney pre-verbal, to turn all his seven-syllable words into pants and moans and sighs, so much so that John couldn't help but offer a few happy snuffling noises of his own, loving the weight of Rodney on his tongue, the heat of him in his mouth, the arc of his body beneath John's hands. Too tired to do anything but go with the flow, Rodney was live with want wherever John touched him, tumbling swiftly toward some delirious white-out, fingers opening and closing against John's neck, the sheets, as though he could reach out and pull an orgasm in.

"Gonna – " Rodney whimpered, and John could feel the muscles in his ass clench and release, taste the sweetly bitter flavor of him at the back of his throat. He sucked a little harder, tonguing the underside of Rodney's cock until Rodney came with a ragged sounding shout that died into unsteady breaths and reckless shudders, tremors that lit up his body from the inside out. "Oh," he managed at last, going lax beneath John, trembling still. "Oh _god_. Broken."

John nosed at the inside of his thigh, kissing the pale skin there gently, sliding one hand beneath his own belly to palm his cock. "Good?" he asked unsteadily, grinding down into his hand.

"Good," Rodney whispered, fingers petting the back of John's neck, stroking his hair in the wrong direction and sending shivers rocketing down John's spine.

"Rodney," he murmured urgently, rubbing his cheek against Rodney's thigh, gripping himself tightly and thrusting down.

"Come on," Rodney breathed, dragging blunt nails over John's shoulder. "Come on, come for me, come – "

And John buried his face in the crease of Rodney's torso, groaned desperately and came in slow, devastating pulses against the sheets. They stayed that way for a long while, Rodney idly touching John's face and neck, murmuring soft nonsense that was strangely soothing as John's heartbeat began to slow. "I'm – " John paused to lick his lips, his mouth gone dry.

"Shhh," Rodney murmured, shifting as John crawled up the bed, flopped down beside him, pulling back the covers just enough to let in air.

John blinked drowsily. "Hi."

Rodney smoothed a thumb over the crease between John's eyebrows. "Hi."

John rubbed his cheek against his pillow. "Mmmmm."

"Still hate you," Rodney said, inching in closer, tucking his head beneath John's chin, sliding a knee between John's thighs.

"Sure," John managed, hand splayed wide in the small of Rodney's back. "Sure you – " He yawned and gave up.

Rodney kissed his collarbone. "Stop talking," he mumbled.

"Crossword."

Rodney reached and slapped him on the ass.

"Maybe in the morning," John conceded, and fell asleep, forty-down, four letters, affectionate sentiment, 'to be in ____.'


End file.
